


Catcalling Will Get You Everywhere

by FangQueen



Series: Inspire Me! [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Draco has a filthy mouth and is an insidious tease, HP: EWE, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Mild Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-09-03 14:56:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8718214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FangQueen/pseuds/FangQueen
Summary: For Neville’s part, he’d honestly thought he would die from mortification alone long before the time it took for the Slytherin to turn around, so the fact that he was even still conscious to hear that question was a feat in itself. He could feel the intense heat of shame creeping up his neck and across his face as those piercing, gray eyes scrutinized him, then shifted to the potted plant clutched in his trembling hands.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this glorious work of art](https://ohlookagaydraco.tumblr.com/post/152740287618). All credit for the concept goes to the artist (which, of course, isn’t me).

“Excuse me?”

Oh shit. That definitely didn’t bode well, the way Malfoy was looking at him now. For Neville’s part, he’d honestly thought he would die from mortification alone long before the time it took for the Slytherin to turn around, so the fact that he was even still conscious to hear that question was a feat in itself. He could feel the intense heat of shame creeping up his neck and across his face as those piercing, gray eyes scrutinized him, then shifted to the potted plant clutched in his trembling hands.

Neville had been working with this particular flytrap for about a month now. Professor Sprout had been absolutely delighted at the opportunity to study a fully cognizant (and oratory) species, and, naturally, she’d been quick to introduce the specimen to her Herbology Professor In Training. The research was going smoothly...until Neville started bringing out said plant at the end of each lesson, with the intention of feeding and watering it before his next class, and the precocious little weed began better acquainting itself with the mish mosh of students they were calling the “eighth year.” Well, one _particular_ student, to be exact...

When, much to Neville’s chagrin, it snorted in a self-satisfied way and repeated, “I _said_ : ‘Nice butt, blondie,’” the remainder of the class was quite quick to finish gathering up their belongings and shuffle out, on fear of an impending explosion from the “blondie” in question. Even their Professor abandoned him, albeit with a look of pained sympathy. Once they were utterly alone, Malfoy seemed to summon himself back from the brink of shock enough so to speak again:

“And you...whatever you are, why do you feel that’s an appropriate thing to say to me?” His expression easily conveyed how ridiculous he thought this was, that he was having to confront a _plant_ , of all things, on its gall. He continued to glance at Neville as well, as if to ask why he didn’t have a better handle on his charge. And, truth be told, it was a fair question. This certainly wasn’t the first time that it had called out to him in such a manner--this just happened to be the first time it had been that forward about it. And this was going to be the last straw, he could feel it. A man’s patience with such a thing could only hold out for so long. Neville had been debating not bringing the thing out around others at all, in order to avoid further embarrassment, but then it had gone a whole week without a peep. Thus, he’d believed it was over its fixation. Apparently he was wrong.

He was just about to suggest they shrug off the whole thing, fling his plant into a corner of the classroom and forget it ever happened. And Malfoy might’ve paid him that courtesy, like he had so many times before; he’d really turned out to be a rather decent human being, now that he wasn’t under the thumb of his parents and the Dark Lord, so to speak. That was, until the plant deemed to provide him another answer:

“Well, it’s not like this chap is ever going to say it, so I have to do the work for him, I suppose.”

Malfoy’s eyebrows lifted straight into his hairline at those words. Oh fuck. Oh dear, sweet lord, Neville was _never_ going to live this down. He was going to have to go into hiding. Somewhere far away. Like Antarctica. Because--while it had seemed, thus far, that they were well past the need for bullying, after everything with the war and all--there was absolutely, positively _no way in hell_ that this ex-Death Eater was going to allow him to have a normal final year at this school after an admission like that. He knew he shouldn’t have run his mouth off around the damn thing. Shouldn’t have been hanging out with Hannah while he was studying it. _Especially_ shouldn’t have answered her (admittedly helpful and caring) questions about his little crush on the reigning Prince of Slytherin while it was within earshot. A moment of weakness. Well, perhaps a few moments…

Yet, Malfoy didn’t appear to be all that upset by it, now that Neville really looked. On the contrary, he’d lowered his brow to a single raised side, an amused smirk forming across his rosy lips. The air in the room, the tangible tension between them, had done a full one-eighty. So he probably wasn’t _angry_ , at the very least. Which was good, because Neville couldn’t muster enough strength to object, even as the abysmal conversation continued.

“Really? And does Longbottom have something he’d _like_ to say to me?”

“I-I--”

“Sure he does! Hardly shuts up about you, to be honest.”

That made the bottom drop out of Neville’s stomach, and, in a strange and twisted turn of events, seemed to make Malfoy’s spirits soar even higher.

“Does he now?”

“Oh yeah. Rather pathetic, really. Goes on and on about you, and doesn’t even have the balls to say anything to your face!”

Okay. That was _quite_ enough of that. He needed to get rid of this yapping shrub before it _even more thoroughly_ ruined his entire existence. In a second of blind panic, he found his voice again long enough to squeak a feeble “Shut up!” before scrambling for a place, any place, to toss the thing. “He really likes your arse, by the way. Probably his favorite part, aside from your eyes, I’d wager!” the plant continued to explain, oblivious as ever as Neville crouched down and shoved it forcefully inside one of the floor-level cabinets lining the wall behind him. Even when he slammed the door shut, he could still hear it calling out cheerfully through the pane of wood: “Says he’d take you for a shag in one of the greenhouses, if given half the chance!”

Oh god, just when he thought it couldn’t get any worse! A snort (of laughter, perhaps?) from Malfoy had him spinning around again, eyes wild and pleading as he waved his hands and hurried to interject, “P-please! It’s not what it sounds like, honest!”

When had the blonde moved so much closer to him? Suddenly, it felt like, Neville was looking at him eye-to-eye and trying desperately to back away from his confusing expression, only to be thwarted by the counter behind him. He really wished he could just brush this whole ordeal aside, but he knew he wasn’t quick enough with his words to accomplish that, especially not with _the_ Draco Malfoy staring him down. The man himself had always intimidated him, even prior to becoming the shining star of his wank fantasies. Which, of course, wasn’t something he’d ever intended for the other to know!

“It isn’t? Because I think he was pretty clear--”

“Look...d-don’t mind him! He, uh, d-doesn’t know what he’s talking about!”

“Oh?” Malfoy pressed on, effectively crowding Neville into the front of the row of cabinets, the backs of his legs now flush against the door that the plant was still shouting through, albeit muffled. The blonde splayed his hands across the edge of the counter on either side of him, and as he leaned closer, Neville tried his best to continue to shy away, nearly bending himself back in half. The small yelp he gave when their pelvises rubbed together only made Malfoy’s smirk grow broader. “So you _wouldn’t_ fancy a shag in one of the greenhouses, then?”

“I-- _what_?!”

It was like the world stopped turning, right in that moment. Because if he wasn’t mistaken--which he very well could be under such duress--that sounded an awful lot like Malfoy was propositioning him. Which was preposterous. Except...

“Because that actually sounds pretty fun. I think I might even enjoy that myself.” Malfoy’s sultry tone lowered another octave, just as he pressed his lips to the Gryffindor’s ear, and Neville was finding it increasingly more difficult to breathe properly.

“Malfoy, I--”

“No, honestly. I think I’d _love_ getting fucked into the dirt by you. What do you say?”

“Uh…” was all Neville _could_ say as the blonde’s slender fingers closed on his wrists and brought them around his waist and down. That magnificent arse he’d been staring at for years filled his quaking hands, and he couldn’t have told anyone his own name if they’d asked him.

“It _is_ rather nice, isn’t it? Bet it’d be even nicer when I’m on all fours, and you’re plowing into me from behind.”

“H-holy shit…”

“You know, I’ve always suspected you have a thick cock, Longbottom. I’ve been dying to find out.”

To that, all Neville could manage was a pathetic whimper. If he knew anything at all about the fickle Slytherin, he was just putting him on. There was no way he really meant what he was saying. Unless, of course, Neville had judged him incorrectly all these years, which he was starting to believe could be entirely possible--or at least he _wanted_ to believe it. Either way, if Malfoy kept talking the way he was, Neville was likely to bust his zipper, which certainly wouldn’t help matters at all.

“ _So_ , what do you say?” he heard Malfoy repeat again, more insistently, and he finally managed:

“Yeah. I’d...I’d really like that.”

“Good. Me too.” Then the blonde was backing away from him, just as the sounds of the next class coming their way began to filter in from outside. A rare smile lit his aristocratic face. Neville could’ve melted into the cabinet right then and there, but luckily he remained upright, if not feeling a tad exposed and still highly embarrassed, especially when Malfoy’s gaze travelled south, to the tent in his trousers. “After dinner then? ‘Round eight?”

Neville nodded furiously, still unable to fully comprehend how the hell this was even happening. Malfoy, on the other hand, looked positively delighted. There was even a saunter in his step as he turned to snatch up his book bag and leave. At the door, however, he appeared to think of something and glanced over his shoulder to add:

“Oh, but if we could keep this from that bloody plant? That would be great.”

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos/comments = <3!
> 
> Come find me on [Tumblr](https://ohlookagaydraco.tumblr.com/) and [LJ](http://fangqueen.livejournal.com/) as well!


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